


End In Sight

by lowflyingfruit



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, INFINITY WARS SPOILERS, ignores mid-credits stinger for Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowflyingfruit/pseuds/lowflyingfruit
Summary: There are more than a few problems that come with cramming what's left of a people on a single spaceship and sailing off to an uncertain welcome on Midgard. Aside from the expected lack of provisions and soul-crushing boredom to go along with the fear, Valkyrie's not sure about being a Valkyrie again, Bruce and the Hulk are still locked in a struggle for their shared body, and Thor can't shake the feeling that there's something worse coming.Loki might know something about that. Loki might know far too much.





	1. Triage

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things I really didn't like about Infinity War was how it basically went "everything that happened in Ragnarok was for nothing." So here's my attempt to reconcile the end of Ragnarok with plot points from Infinity War. The first chapters will primarily focus on the Thor cast, but characters from the wider MCU will be showing up later.

Then came the moment Thor knew he had to turn and walk away from the viewing portal, and that he had to be first to do so.

Before him, the field of rubble that used to be their home was dark. Behind him, the silence was vast. He had never heard a gathering of Asgardians so quiet.

“I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever,” he said, facing the new asteroid field, loud enough for his voice to carry to the people behind him in spite of facing the wrong way. “Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death."

He turned. So few of them left. Perhaps four thousand, five at most, with nothing left to them but the clothes on their backs.

“The halls of Asgard are gone, and many of our people with them,” he said. “We will say our farewells and move on from here. We are Asgard now. We live on.”

He stepped forward. If there had been a harder step to take, he could not immediately recall. He had to keep walking, he had to move away, someone had to lead them away from this carnage. Since he’d ordered it, it seemed fair that he take responsibility for the consequences. What had he ordered it _for_ , if not for people to be able to live on? He took another step, and the small crowd parted around him.

_I am Asgard’s doom, and so are you._ Thor had even been warned. He’d needed to do it. He knew. And yet looking at the rubble, and worse, turning away knowing it was still _there_ …every nightmare had been real in the end. As he passed, he could hear other voices picking up the lines of the mourning prayer. Hopefully he wouldn’t be the only one walking away.

He also hoped that they gave him long enough to try and work out where he was going right this minute. He’d never been in a spaceship like this before. The layout was confusing.

Thor stepped through a pair of smaller doors at the end and to his great relief found not a washroom or a storage cupboard but a corridor. The doors along here came at lengthy intervals, suggesting larger storerooms or barracks. For all their sakes, he hoped barracks. If they were truly blessed, this would be a ship used to transport battalions, enforcers. Berths would be both small and hard in that case, but they would be _there_. Bracing himself for the worst (a large room bare of anything but slave restraints), he opened the first set of doors he came across.

Barracks.

His tears felt like fire in his eyes as he surveyed the cramped room. There were perhaps two hundred tiny berths in here. Some of them would have a place to rest, at least, even if this was only the main crew quarters. He would go back and -

\- and work out who he had on this ship, how many children, how many families, how many elders. They would have to count the people and count the beds, and make decisions about who needed them most should they have more of the former than the latter. And soon. Thor had been taught how to provision for people, tedious work though it was. He could do this much.

All the cuts, the bruises, the strains, he could feel them now. He’d been punched, stabbed, nearly thrown off the Bifrost. He was so tired. His eyes hurt so much. Somewhere inside, not all that deep inside either, he just wanted to find a bottle and go back to that window. He knew a little of how the last Valkyrie had felt, now.

“I thought I might find you here,” his brother sniffed from behind him. “Somewhere dingy, accomplishing nothing of use.”

“There are beds in here,” Thor said, unnecessarily.

“Hardly _beds_ ,” Loki said. “More like shelves.”

“There have to be orphans - should they have priority here? Or will there be too little supervision? Did you find the medbay on the way here? What about the oxygen and water recyclers, are they working well?”

“I can tell you what’s not working well: your brain. And yes, I know where the medbay is, I thought I might escort you there myself. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, brother of mine, but you’re missing an eye. It looks rather painful. Though I must say I anticipate some experiments in depth perception.”

Thor smiled. It was an effort, under the circumstances, but one that felt worth it. Not only had Loki come back, Loki was worried. “All right,” he said.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “No arguments?”

“You can tell me everything you know about the ship on the way.”

A second eyebrow raised to join the first. “Is that some responsibility you’re showing there? How hard _did_ our sister hit you over the head?”

Thor thought about it. “Mostly she stabbed me. Cut me a few times.”

“Well, blood loss might explain it too. Come on, this way.”

It was only days ago that Thor had been forced to make a plan for what happened when his brother almost inevitably betrayed him. Now he followed along, and if he was too heartsick to be truly happy, then he could at least have this.

As they went, Thor insisted on opening at least a few of the doors they passed. There were two more rooms of those tiny, hard berths. Six hundred beds for four thousand people, but six hundred more beds than they might have had otherwise. Four thousand more people. “You’ll be in the captain’s quarters,” Loki said. “Don’t argue.”

He didn’t think he had the energy. There was so much to do, he couldn’t afford to waste time fighting with his brother. Privately, he was thinking the medbay was sounding like a better idea all the time. Aside from the cuts and the bruises and the stab wounds, he was developing a nasty headache, and every muscle felt like lead.

They were not the first to find the medbay. Thor heard the crowding before he saw it. Of course there were injuries, and many of them. He made himself stand up straighter - when had he started listing to the side? How long had it been since he slept? Surely he was due for his second wind. He smiled.

“Oh, for goodness’ - stop pretending you’re not injured.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said. He spotted a forming centre to the chaos, and navigated in that direction. He recognised the woman in that centre vaguely, one of the more junior healers from the palace, one of Eir’s many students. She might well be the most experienced healer left to them. “Good lady,” he said. “Is there anything that might be done to make your task easier?”

Behind him, Loki groaned.

“Your high- your majesty,” the woman corrected herself hastily, “There is - your own injuries -“

“They will keep for now,” Thor said. “I will need assistance with the wounds later, when those worse hurt than I are seen to.”

“ _He’s missing an eye,_ ” Loki hissed at the healer and Thor both.

Her gaze darted to the very edge of Thor’s vision; Thor did not so much as move his head. “Are there any supplies we should seek out as we explore the ship?” Thor asked, as if Loki hadn’t spoken. “Bandaging, medicines?”

“Your majesty,” she said, and hesitated, “Anything. Anything at all. There’s not much medicine here. If you find blankets, though…the heating here is barely enough. Without blankets, we’ll lose some more for certain.”

“Thank you,” Thor said. “I shall make it a priority.” They would need a lot of blankets. Space was cold, and this spaceship was far from a luxury passenger cruiser, climate controlled for the comfort of every passenger. Still, the wounded should get the blankets they found, if indeed they found any. He made to leave. He could not - there were others in need of the healers, far more than he.

“Your majesty,” she said. “Please, allow me to at least assess your wounds first.”

Loki’s arm snaked out, and weary as he was, Thor couldn’t stop him. “He will stay very still,” Loki said.

Now that he’d been cornered, he had no choice but to submit with dignity and set a good example. His armour had taken the worst of the stab wounds, his other cuts and bruises were dismissed, and then there were soft hands at his right eye. Or where his right eye used to be. Though he could feel every touch, his field of vision no longer covered that space.

It was - not the worst loss he’d suffered today. On reflection, it didn’t make it into the top five losses of the past week.

After several painful seconds, the healer withdrew. “The bleeding has stopped,” she reported. “You were quite correct, your majesty, those are not priority wounds. Though as a rule, the sooner cleaned the better.”

“Thank you, Lady…”

“Ingvild, your majesty.”

“Lady Ingvild. I shall trouble you no further, and hopefully we shall find you more supplies.”

This time, Loki let him walk off. He even followed, with a quick bow of the head that Thor spotted out of the corner of his remaining eye. Soon enough, though, his brother was hurrying to his side again. His - his blind side. Thor could not see him very well. “And here I thought you’d actually _learned_ something,” Loki said, once they were out of earshot.

“I cannot hide my wounds,” Thor said. Though he was no stranger to pain, he had never left the healers untreated. “As you pointed out so helpfully, I am missing an eye. Even if I can’t see it, everyone else can. But nor can I appear weak. Now least of all.”

“You’re going to fill in for every rock in Asgard, are you?”

“If I must.”

He didn’t need to see to know that Loki was rolling his eyes. That was all right. Loki was upset himself, and Thor had to be strong enough to bear Loki’s worrying, too. “Now what?” he asked. “Go and nobly work yourself until you collapse?”

Thor turned and clapped Loki on the shoulder. He was still there. No illusion. If his hand landed somewhat off-centre from where he’d intended, that was all right. “There’s a lot to do today still.”

 

—

 

Mostly, Loki was waiting for Thor to fall on his stubborn face. Three reasonably deep stab wounds, all the usual bruises and strains of a difficult fight (which he’d _lost_ ), and oh yes, one of his eyes had been cut out. Not even the mighty Thor could ignore that forever, though Loki believed he’d try.

He preferred this to returning to the cargo bay where that awful emptiness was. The palace. His mother’s gardens. The libraries he’d studied in. The great hall, the practice yards, the streets, the mountains. Everything. Gone in an instant. Asgard was destroyed in minutes, reduced to no more than rubble and dust.

Loki did not particularly want to think about that, nor his role in it. So he wasn’t going to. Not even -

He watched and followed as Thor _somehow_ made it back to the central cargo bay and started organising small teams of the uninjured to either search the ship for materials or mind the children and the injured. The Valkyrie, he sent back out on the gaudy monstrosity of a leisure vessel to search for any other small craft that may have departed Asgard, under Heimdall’s direction. Spacecraft were rare on Asgard, but some few merchants kept them, and they had their own leisure craft - not that they were designed to withstand the rigors of long-haul space travel. He set the beast to hauling machinery out of the main area, with as little smashing as possible.

Not bad for someone almost collapsing from exhaustion, Loki supposed. Somewhere along the way, Thor had grown - well, just grown. As he himself had pointed out to Loki, just to make the entire matter even more galling.

And where in all of the Nine Realms had he learned sleight-of-hand?

In the meantime, he alone had not been assigned a useful task, but was simply left to stand there and ensure his brother did not fall on his stupid, stubborn, already-injured face, and to contribute what little he could to the organsiation. Well, fine. Loki could stand here all day and they’d see who fell over first. Perhaps Thor would get the hint if Loki kept glaring at him.

After a few hours, reports started coming back. The ship was fuelled and all its recyclers were working - oxygen, water, waste. The crop towers were likewise functional, producing a basic range of bland, nutrient-dense food, supplemented by a half-stocked protein paste dispenser. The ship's sewage systems was up to its task. That was the best of it. Like many a slaver, the Sakaarians had soon learned that an up-front investment in such systems quickly earned itself back several times over through preventing wastage and deterioration of the goods it carried, and kept guards and crew in better shape as well.

The bad news was everything else. The barracks he had found Thor inspecting were the only beds they had, outside the tiny infirmary. There were only a thousand blankets on board, and the heating system was limited. Bathing facillities were equally limited, and save for in officers’ quarters, all vibration-based - a deeply unpleasant experience to most Asgardian ears. There were few tables, few chairs. The laundry was only designed to take the load of a few hundred people, rather than several thousand.

They could survive a few months like this. They would be cold, hungry, desperately uncomfortable, boring and grimy months, but they could survive it.

The Valkyrie returned escorting two Asgardian leisure craft, packed with another sixty or so survivors. They were in worse shape than most of the others on board the Statesman, the craft concerned being designed to hold no more than twenty each, and they’d been up there for days. While Thor directed them to the overwhelmed cafeteria distributing its tiny portions of cardboard-tasting cooked grain, Valkyrie took Loki aside. “Has His Majesty been working the whole time?” she asked him, frowning.

She meant Thor, and she said it strangely, halfway between nickname and honorific. “He saw the healers briefly, and unfortunately, they told him that his wounds weren’t serious,” Loki said.

“His knees aren’t steady,” Valkyrie said. “You need to drag him away to get some sleep _now_ , ‘cause I don’t think he’s slept since the Anus. _I’m_ still exhausted, and I managed to have a nap on the flight out to those people, _and_ I wasn’t hurt as badly as he was.”

Thor looked perfectly steady to Loki, but then, she was the better fighter. More attuned to the movements of others. “I’ve been waiting for him to fall over,” he confessed.

“Well, he’s going to do it in the next thirty minutes,” she said. “Get him out of here. I have to go. Heimdall says there are another nine small ships out there that aren’t going to last long.”

“No such concern for me?”

She snorted. “I think you’ve hit your limit of self-sacrifice for the day. Let’s not pretend. If you need sleep, you’ll take it.”

Truth be told, he’d _exceeded_ his limits for self-sacrifice today. He let her go with an incline of the head as gracious as that he’d given to the healer who hadn’t insisted Thor sit down. Still, it was at least something constructive to do. He sidled up to his brother and whispered, “If you fall over now, you’ll undo what you were trying to accomplish.”

Thor turned and nodded grimly, then excused himself. More madness. Since when did Thor listen and take reasonable advice? Loki led him onwards, to the captain’s cabin he himself had occupied on the journey to Asgard. It was a luxurious suite, and Loki would be sorry to vacate it.

“More blankets!” Thor said happily, upon seeing the bed. “Excellent. I’ll send those to Lady Ingvild.”

“I’ll take them,” Loki said. On his way back, he’d bring a healer. It looked like it was a lost cause persuading Thor to keep much more in here than the bare furnishings. “Give them here.”

Thor did so, then lowered himself onto the bed with a groan, remaining eye closing for a second. “I have to admit it’s nice to sit down,” he said. “To have a bed, even. It’s been…hm. Two weeks, I think, what with one thing and another. Muspelheim’s hospitality leaves something to be desired.”

Of course. Thor had said he’d visited Surtur, and he’d got the crown somehow. “Well then. Enjoy.”

Loki took the blankets Thor had discarded. There was a cupboard not far away with spares for the suite - the captain and their guests on this ship lived very different lives to the crew, who in turn were far better provided for than the slaves.

There were more people sleeping now, worn out by the events of the day, huddled together on the floor in the rooms Loki passed. A few cried out in their sleep. He hurried on. Most of these people had been treated, yet his brother had not. There was only so long a missing eye could go untreated. He had never seen Thor injured like that before. Not - permanently.

The healer Ingvild was still awake when Loki arrived in the medbay, looking every bit as exhausted as Thor, and now spattered with as much blood. “Your highness,” she said wearily.

“I propose a trade,” he said, hefting the blankets. “These, for someone to treat my brother’s wounds.”

Ingvild blinked. “There is no trade required.” She surveyed the medbay, then turned to a younger man, his face bruised and battered. “Ulrik, will you go with his highness to treat his majesty?” To Loki, she said, “Ulrik has slept a few hours, unlike myself. He will do a better job.”

“Very well. I am grateful for your assistance.”

“He is wounded, and he is our king,” Ingvild said, drawing herself up to her full height. She was not a tall woman, but nor was it hard to see how she had imposed her will on the healers here already. “It is our duty twice over.”

While Ulrik collected a few supplies, Loki cut the blankets he’d brought into thirds. Six became eighteen. Another twelve Asgardians could have a scrap of fabric to warm them in the void, or to provide a slight bit of comfort on the metal floors. Twelve, out of thousands. So few had survived, and so many they couldn’t provide for.

This was futile. Pointless.

But Ulrik was done gathering what precious little medicine he could, and in the captain’s quarters Thor was still needing a healer’s care, and so Loki guided the one to the other.

 

—

 

Brunnhilde had never thought she’d be a Valkyrie again. She’d thrown her armour into the trash heaps of Sakaar centuries ago. She hadn’t touched the Dragonfang in almost as long (it wasn’t hers, it had been Sigrid’s, and she couldn’t - not into the _trash_ ). All her plans had revolved around drinking and dying.

It had only been a few days ago that she’d picked up His Majesty. Only a few days and he’d somehow convinced her to come back to all of this. She kind of wanted to punch him for it.

The console beeped, and she came all the way awake. She was here. No time for navel-gazing, she had work to do. Just like she’d told Lackey. Nine ships. Limited time. Everyone out here had been out here for days already, before Hela had _really_ started killing people. She hit the console for communications back to the Statesman. “Okay, I’m here.”

“So are they,” Heimdall said. “Above you.”

She’d never worked with Heimdall before. The Watchman of Asgard had concerns beyond one unit of soldiers, elite as the Valkyries had been. Good luck, though, since Heimdall turned out to be a good man to work with. Very keen eyes. Brunnhilde tilted the Commodore up and started scanning. “Nothing yet.”

“Left. A little more.”

Maybe it was a little creepy, him being able to see her every move, but he was also too much a stick-in-the-mud to abuse it. Maybe you got used to it. His Majesty wasn’t bothered. Brunnhilde looked into the starry abyss, trying to distinguish metal from rock from infinite darkness. “Got it,” she said at last, and jammed the controls forward. “Send me the next set of coordinates.”

She pulled up alongside the vessel. This one was a merchanter. Short-range trips only. Hopefully they had some cargo along with their people. They needed to feed everyone they already had.

Brunnhilde hailed them. “Asgardians?”

“Who’s asking?” The voice was young. Male. Scratchy with thirst. Bad sign. This guy was no Korg, either, to roll with the punches.

She piloted up so they could see her through the viewscreen, shiny armour and all. “A Valkyrie,” she said. “His Majesty has me searching for other survivors. Heimdall directed me to you.”

“Asgard is -“ a sob.

“There are still Asgardians,” Brunnhilde said. She’d heard His Majesty say something like that, only more flowery, ‘cause he was, well, him. She was talking to a kid. And if a kid was talking…there probably weren’t any grown-ups around. “You guys have food and water? They’re an hour’s flight in this ship, and no offence, but yours is slower.”

“Food, yes,” the kid said. “No water. Our recycler was hit.”

“Wanna let me aboard? I have a few bottles.” There was even water in them.

Docking was awkward, but she managed it. She entered onto a ship packed with children. Most of them had to be under three centuries old. There were a few older children, but nobody of an age to fight. They all had glassy, red-rimmed eyes and cracked lips. Asgardians were tough, but if Brunnhilde had arrived a day later, these children would be dying instead of just suffering.

One little girl whispered, “A real Valkyrie…” as Brunnhilde passed. She tried not to hear the awe in the girl’s voice.

The boy who’d spoken to her was still in the cockpit, with a pair of girls around his own age. They were the oldest, but still far from adult. “What’s going to happen to us?” the taller of the girls asked.

“I’m going to leave you water and program coordinates into your nav computer,” Brunnhilde said. “You three are going to share the water out and fly to those coordinates. You know the Watchman, right? Heimdall? He’ll be looking for you.”

“You’re not going to come with us?” the boy asked.

Gentle, she had to be gentle. None of them were asking about their parents. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. “I can’t,” she said. “There are eight more ships out there like yours. His Majesty sent me out to find them and make sure as many people get back as possible. Your ship works, but others might not. You’ve already been brave. Just a bit more, yeah?”

The second girl, who had a harder expression than the other two, lifted her chin and said, “My mama said that King Odin was dead, and so was Prince Thor. Mama said we don’t have a king now.”

The other two got her meaning. “Ragnfrior…” the boy said, fear in his voice.

“Odin is dead,” Brunnhilde said. She’d never call Odin her king again, she’d promised herself that long ago. She hiked up her sleeve to reveal her Valkyrie tattoo. “I swear on my honour, Thor Odinson lives, and I am sending you to him and all that remains of Asgard.”

She wasn’t good with kids. She wasn’t good with _people_. She wanted a drink. Maybe two or three.

“We don’t have a choice,” the first girl said to suspicious little Ragnfrior. “We need water. Lady Valkyrie, we accept your aid.”

It had been a long time since anyone had called her _Lady Valkyrie_. It had been a long time since she offered aid.

Brunnhilde stayed long enough to make sure the twenty children aboard all got their mouthful of water. Enough to keep them alive. Even if water might be short aboard the Statesman, she could still promise them more in good conscience.

Then it was out into the darkness again, near the edges of the asteroid field where Asgard used to be. Eight more ships. Perhaps another four hundred survivors at most, if those ships were large and crowded; more likely there would be two hundred or fewer. Heimdall had sent her the next three sets of coordinates, all within an hour’s flight of each other, three hours from where she was. She could make all three before she had to return and restock, she thought.

Once again she slept most of the way to her destination. She hoped that Lackey had persuaded His Majesty into getting some sleep himself, ‘cause if he hadn’t, she was going to kick his ass. Or get the Big Guy to do it. He probably deserved a bit more fun after they’d called him off Surtur.

The next ship she found was a fragile little thing, clearly used for recreational space-viewing rather than any sort of serious travel. Its passengers numbered ten children, and two women heavy with child. One of those, Lady Astrid, was the engineer who maintained the ship before. “We’ll need all of you we can get,” Brunnhilde said, and Lady Astrid smiled wanly.

The ship after, she was too late. Brunnhilde hailed them to no response, and then docked - only to find that they’d run out of oxygen in the past hours. There was nothing she could have done, she knew. This time, instead of sending people on, she put on the emergency rebreather (just because Asgardians could survive the vacuum of space for a few hours didn’t make it _fun_ ) and salvaged what she could. Food, water, heat sources - it all got stuffed into the back of the Commodore. She hesitated over the personal effects of the dead. Some books, a doll, a small pouch of jewellery. Small things, loved things. Like she’d taken Sigrid’s sword, once upon a time.

Scrapper 142 hadn’t survived on Sakaar through sentiment and squeamishness. These people were dead. They wouldn’t be needing it. The living Asgardians on the Statesman, though, needed everything they could get. Even the doll. If it stopped one kid crying it was probably worth it. She took them, too, and stripped the corpses. After that indignity, all she could do was say the proper rites, the words clumsy on her tongue. Good thing nobody was there to hear.

She wasn’t planning to tell His Majesty about this one. Let him guess where this stuff had come from.

Feeling numb inside again, and aching for a drink again too, she headed off to the third and final ship of this run.

It wasn’t far. It was also big. The biggest she’d found yet, a proper shuttle to travel between local systems with cargo. In normal circumstances it wasn’t meant for more than twelve, maybe fifteen; under the circumstances she wouldn’t be surprised for fifty people to be aboard. She flew up, viewscreen-to-viewscreen again, and said, “Calling Asgard.”

There was a long pause, and then, “There is no Asgard.” A man’s voice, this time, strained and exhausted but not cracking of thirst.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Brunnhilde said. “We’ve got a few thousand Asgardians on a ship. We’re gonna go somewhere safe and start again.” Just where that was, she was going to leave up to someone else. “I’ve got coordinates.”

She couldn’t hear the discussion that would surely be going on inside, but there had to be. She tried to fly casual. After all, this time she really wasn’t there to sell them into slavery. After way too long a time, she asked, “Look, can I dock and give you the coordinates and the last of my supplies? Heimdall says there are another five ships with survivors out there, and they’re running out of time. I need to get back and restock.”

“Heimdall?” another man asked. “Heimdall survived?”

“Yes, Heimdall survived.”

There was another long pause. The adults were worse than the kids in deciding what to do about her. Asgard was a kind world. Its children were trusting. But every adult learned suspicion sooner or later. “Come aboard,” the second man said at last.

Brunnhilde couldn’t pretend that the expressions of shock and awe as she did so weren’t gratifying on some level. Damn right she was a Valkyrie. They’d fought and won in each of the Nine Realms, and the epics sung about them were epic. It was a short-lived feeling, however - they weren’t a _they_ anymore. The Valkyries were only her. There was a weight to that. She hoped she could stand it once the rush wore off.

Aboard, she repeated the story of how they’d been forced to destroy Asgard-the-place in order to save the few thousand people they could. The people knew about the destruction of Asgard - it was kind of hard to miss - but the whole ‘actual survivors’ thing they had a little more trouble with.

“Hela said the princes were dead,” the man in charge of this little group said.

“Premature call, yeah,” Brunnhilde said. She needed to get them all out of here. “Just pushed them off the Bifrost. They landed safe and sound and came right back.” Detour through the gladiatorial games of Sakaar aside. She didn’t need to mention that. And they way these people talked about His Majesty, she didn’t think telling them she’d sold him as a slave would be a good idea.

Eventually, they said, “We will do as our king commands.”

Our king. That wasn’t a welcome reminder. She’d called him _your majesty_ and meant it, back on Asgard, but it was one thing for her to say it, when there was nobody to hear but that Banner guy, and another for someone to call him their king. Her king.

Saving Asgardians, she could do. Defending the throne again…

She’d have to drink on it.

 

—

 

The healer Loki found was careful, thorough, and extremely apologetic about the lack of anything to numb the pain. “I’ll come back later to fit you an eyepatch,” he said. “It has to sit right on your face, your majesty.”

“Only when you have the time,” Thor said. He could feel a strange emptiness in his face, along with what was now the ache of a healing wound. “The gravely wounded come first.” Hela had aimed for his eye specifically, destroying it but otherwise not doing much damage to his face. Her spite was his…not gain. Lesser loss. The injury could have been much worse.

Loki hadn’t come back. Thor had no hope that he would. He’d done everything Thor could have hoped for. More than Thor might once have expected. He was very proud. If only Loki would stay…

Then, once the healer was gone, he laid out on the bare mattress and slept. Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, it felt almost shameful.

The dreams that came to him were not peaceful. He watched his people slaughtered on the bridge, he fought Loki in Sakaar’s arena and killed him, he saw crowds in Asgard’s streets and spoke the order to burn it all anyway, he dreamed of his grief forged to something terrifying in its emptiness. It was less than restful. Thor woke almost as tired as he’d been when he’d slept, and in even more pain. These quarters boasted their own bathing facilities, lavishly appointed as far as these things went. Reasoning that the water recyclers were working well and that he needed to be seen as in control of himself and his surroundings, Thor made use of the steam-washer. It felt good, for thirty seconds, and it did at least let him clean up.

He found his way back to the main area of the ship. There were people milling around there, most of whom had neither a hard little bunk nor a blanket, when Thor had had an entire bed. There was no sign of Loki, nor of Valkyrie. Instead, he approached Heimdall, keeping his vigil at the main window. Thor was pleased to see that at some point the healers had attended to him as well, bandaging his leg wound. “Did anything of import happen while I slept?” he asked.

Thor had stood next to Heimdall and looked out over the stars beyond Asgard many a time. Now, though Heimdall stood on his good side and Thor could still see him clearly, there was darkness to his right, and unfamiliar stars ahead. This would take some getting used to.

“Korg of Krona has finished counting our people. Not including us, Korg, Lady Brunnhilde, Prince Loki, and Master Banner, we have four thousand, three hundred and ninety-two Asgardians on board, plus seventeen surviving gladiators from Sakaar.” Only seventeen gladiators? Many must have fallen in the defence of his people. Thor would see them honoured as appropriately as possible. Korg would know how many, and likely their names as well. “Lady Brunnhilde is on her final trip out to retrieve the last of the people who fled the planet. I count another eighty-one on those ships.”

Asgard was a people, Thor told himself again. Asgard was four thousand, four hundred and seventy-seven people. Plus Korg, the surviving gladiators, and Banner, if they wished to be counted amongst Asgard’s numbers. For what they had done for Asgard, they would always have a place here. “Any progress with supplies?”

“Precise rations haven’t been worked out yet, though the group you assigned to distribute meals has worked together well so far. We will have enough for a journey of approximately six weeks at most. Assuming that no crops fail.”

Not long, as far as space travel on a slow vessel like this went. “There are luxury goods in officers’ quarters for us to sell or barter,” Thor said. “It might not get us much, but if it buys us another day’s food we should do it. How fare our wounded?”

“Ten died from the time of boarding to now, and two more will likely follow by the end of the day cycle. Most here bear minor wounds. The infirmary here was only designed for twenty. We have twice that many in need of medical beds, and an additional thirty who would greatly benefit from bed rest. In terms of healers, we have eleven, plus four apprentices and three apothecaries. All are on the verge of exhaustion.”

“I will visit them soon and see if I can persuade them to take a little more rest,” Thor said. “We will need their skills. Is there anything else I should know?”

Heimdall said, “Your coronation will be today.”

Thor started. “Surely you jest. Today? In these circumstances?”

“Today,” Heimdall said. “Asgard needs this. We need something to hold on to.”

“If it must be, it must be,” Thor said heavily. He didn’t want it. He had been happy as Midgard’s protector. Even travelling the realms in search of the Infinity Stones he had been happy. And yet he’d sat on the throne and taken up Gungnir to challenge Hela. He was not blind to the implications, nor the responsibility he’d accepted. If his people would have him, he would serve. If his people needed something to hold on to, he would let them hold on to him. “When?”

“Three hours. The plans are already under way. Such as they are.”

No throne. No crown. No Gungnir. There would be nothing traditional about this coronation. “I will be presentable for it,” he promised.

“Then that is all,” Heimdall said.

“Thank you, Heimdall,” Thor said. In all honesty he could not possibly thank Heimdall enough. He, and Asgard, owed him a great deal. That said, the way Heimdall would want his efforts repaid was through Thor’s own dedication to Asgard. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Then he set to his tasks. There was still plenty of work to be done. Disputes had arisen over bedding, tempers had flared over bathing. Nothing serious, but all best set to rights before they became so. At least there had been no arguments about food or water. Everyone was hungry and thirsty alike in that regard.

Valkyrie was still out, while Korg and the Hulk had finally sought a place to rest. Truly, Banner’s endurance in that form was remarkable. Loki was nowhere to be found, and every passing minute made it more likely that he had fled. Thor only had himself to blame for that; he had needed to goad Loki and it was the only way he could think of that was likely to work, yet if his brother had taken his callous words to heart, that was the price Thor must pay for Asgard’s salvation.

When Thor visited the medbay to see how the wounded and the healers were faring, he himself was taken aside by one of the apothecaries. “That eyepatch, your majesty,” she said. “That wound needs proper covering.” Not to mention it would spare everyone the sight of bandages around his eye, or worse, the tattered remnants of his eyelid over the empty socket.

She changed the dressing, too. He hoped they could spare the resources. Fortunately, he had always healed fast even by Asgardian standards. He should be reasonably presentable for this coronation. Clean, at least.

When he realised that most people were drawing towards the main area of the spaceship, Thor knew it was time.

He managed a purposeful stride back to the captain’s quarters to prepare. Unreadiness and reluctance were not things he could afford anymore.

He wished his brother was by his side.


	2. Duty Calls

Midgard.

It had to be Midgard.

Oh, Loki knew why Thor would choose it. It wasn’t a bad decision. It could even be called a good decision. But all the same, he felt somewhat ill. He turned away from the stars ahead of them and back towards the crowd. They were still silent; it wasn’t an occasion for cheering. How different to that day, it seemed so long ago, when Thor was supposed to be crowned.

Course set, Thor stood. A signal that the moment was over and life had to resume. There were things to do, apparently, but Loki was not sure how to fit himself into any of them. Thor was already chatting to the people nearest the throne. Heimdall returned to his watch, perhaps slightly less impassive than before. The Valkyrie had walked off entirely - to drink, most likely - and even as Loki watched, the gladiator Korg declared his intention to find or craft Miek some new legs, at least. The only one unoccupied, aside from Loki, was the Hulk. And Loki did not care to make closer acquaintance with the Hulk.

“Hulk,” Thor called. “Hey, Hulk! There’s more smashing to do!”

“Smash!” the beast said happily. “Puny god should learn to smash better.”

“Ah, but you are so adept at it.” Loki watched as Thor directed the Hulk to tear apart the various machines meant to keep track of the slaves and gladiators that had once been transported on this ship.

Loki sidled up once the beast had left and said quietly, “We could have made more selling the machines intact.” Tagging facilities, even intact restraining devices could be sold.

“No,” Thor said. He turned to face Loki; with a start, Loki realised that he’d approached from Thor’s newly blind side. It must have been disconcerting. “None of that. It would be disrespectful to our gladiator allies to participate in the trade that took them from their homes and families. We smash the machines and sell the scrap instead.” He shot a look at Loki. “You’ve always been good at bartering. Would you take charge of the buying and selling? Collect the luxuries from officers’ quarters, distribute some we can use, if anything, and sell the rest. Take the Commodore, if you need.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you that eager to be rid of me?”

“Not at all, but if anyone can find a suitable trading post, it would be you.” He gave Loki a friendly clap on the shoulders and walked off.

First the hug, now this. It had been a long time since Loki had received that sort of physical affection. A long, long time. He wasn’t sure what to think of it, especially when his brother just walked off afterwards. Nothing else? He wasn’t even going to mention Midgard? He didn’t suspect -?

In any event, he now had a job to do. Thor had given him a job. The first step would be scouring the ship for trinkets.

Starting with Thor’s quarters.

Two hours later, he’d painstakingly and with a good deal of magical effort removed a saleable quantity of gold from the formerly-gilded furniture, stripped every bit of cloth from the room save the mattress, arranged for all but two chairs to be taken to what was becoming the main living area of the ship, and prised out several expensive electronics and artworks. He’d left the room’s decor…minimalist. Perfect. If Thor wished to make of himself a humble and modest king, Loki was perfectly willing to help him along.

He stripped his own room next. It was substantially less luxurious, but there were still things that could be sent to the bulk of their people or sold off. After just two rooms he had enough to justify taking the Commodore. The next matter was speaking to Heimdall.

“You’re looking for a trading post,” Heimdall said, before Loki could get a word out.

“On the orders of my brother,” Loki said.

Heimdall’s face remained expressionless. Loki had ever been poor at persuading the gatekeeper of anything.

“My brother, the king of Asgard,” Loki said, subtly emphasising the last three words.

“And I wish you a safe journey,” Heimdall said. “The coordinates are waiting in the Commodore. You will have to go some ways afield.”

Loki searched Heimdall’s face carefully, ninety percent sure that he was being needled in some way. “Thank you,” he said. If that was how Heimdall wished to play it, that was how Loki would respond.

He’d just turned to go when Heimdall said, quite unexpectedly, “My prince.” When Loki turned around, Heimdall said, “Take care you return safely.”

Now that was even more unexpected. He nodded. “I will.”

It was a strange feeling, piloting away from the Statesman. He’d spent most of the previous night considering it, even without what he had on board. There was enough in here that he could make a good start on a new world. He could do it.

He’d also thought that deciding to stay would mean that he wouldn’t think about leaving anymore. But it was as he’d told Thor years ago. Satisfaction, it seemed, was truly not in his nature. He’d decided, though. He’d _decided_. He wasn’t going to go back on that decision just because he could. _Dear brother, you’re becoming predictable._ That wasn’t happening again. It was a matter of pride.

It was just…Midgard. Loki did not like the idea of going back to Midgard. They had good reason to hate him, there. How many thousands had he killed in his invasion? He’d never been told. Nor had he asked. It must have been thousands, though. If the humans had recognised him, standing next to Thor on the streets of New York…never before had he been glad that people looked to Thor first. If they went there to live, however, he could not pass unrecognised forever. Standing by Thor meant not living in hiding.

Then there was the other issue. He’d have to tell Thor eventually. Sooner or later, it would all catch up with him. Loki looked out to the blackness beyond and shivered. Even now he was vulnerable. So vulnerable. He could disappear out here, in the wrong sort of way, and Thor would only know what happened to him too late. On the one hand, _him_ , and on the other, Midgard. Whichever way he turned, there would be no mercy for him.

He was - he was afraid.

Not that he planned to admit _that_.

It was too late now to flee, he supposed. He’d promised his brother he would do this much for their people. Implicitly, he’d even promised to stay, or at least to return. After he came back, though, then he would tell Thor the rest. This time for sure.

But first, supplies. Loki turned his mind to the prosaic matters of buying and selling and the needs of the people aboard the Statesman, away from the darkness surrounding him.

 

—

 

Where was he this time?

Okay, Banner. Get it together. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in a strange place not knowing what the hell had been happening around him. Not by a long shot. This didn’t seem too bad, as far as it went. Lots of metal. Artificial lights. He was in a ship? No telling just from this. At least he had some pants. Kind of. He was going to have to do a bit of strategic tying to keep them up though, and they’d been uncomfortable enough to start with. Inside, the bit of him that held the Hulk was sleeping.

He pulled himself upright. Oh yeah, definitely a ship of some sort. No windows in here, and he could hear engines humming somewhere in the distance. Someone had had the fantastic idea of shoving him in a sealed and pressurised metal can. Again. Brilliant.

What happened with Asgard, anyway? The last he remembered was hitting that shiny rainbow bridge face-first. Like the bellyflops he used to do in the pool when he was a kid, if the pool was made of steel that splintered like glass. Had they beamed out like Thor planned?

On the floor around him was a _lot_ of torn-up metal. Didn’t look like structural damage to the room. More like the Hulk had been tearing apart machinery. He hitched his ruined pants up again and set out to find some answers, trying to avoid the sharp edges of the scrap surrounding him.

Hopefully this wasn’t anywhere dangerous.

Fortunately, the first person he passed was recognisable as an Asgardian refugee. A man, just old enough to qualify as a man, which probably meant he was something like a thousand years old. He wore his hair a bit like Thor used to, though he wasn’t armoured. Bruce had worked with Thor for over a year and only ever saw him in armour of varying degrees of formality, or Earth casual. It was hard to imagine him in anything like the loose tunics most Asgardians wore. “Excuse me,” Bruce said. He was long past worrying about looking stupid. “Where are we?”

Sure enough, the Asgardian looked at him as if he was mad. “Do you mock me?” he snapped.

So the prickly temper was a cultural thing. Good to know. He thought. “No,” Bruce said, mildly and unthreateningly as possible. “I really don’t know where I am.”

The Asgardian looked at him dubiously, but a second voice interrupted, “Master Banner?”

A woman’s voice. Middle-aged. Bruce turned to find a second Asgardian. Similar clothes, similar hair. This woman had ugly bruises on her hands, more visible through a tear over the shoulder of her beige clothes, and dark shadows under her eyes. More importantly, though, she’d addressed him by name. “I am,” Bruce said.

“The gatekeeper saw your awakening, Master Banner,” the woman said. “I have been sent to bring you to the Allfather. Our king.”

Well, that wasn’t the most helpful explanation Bruce had ever heard. At least the woman wasn’t scared out of her wits. Whoever this gatekeeper was, nobody had told this woman about the Hulk. Bruce thought he’d better take a general lack of terror where he could get it. “The king, hm?” Bruce said. Thor’s dad, as he understood things. “And here I am with only half a pair of pants. Lead the way, ma’am.”

She did so in silence, which wasn’t totally reassuring. The hum of the engines was constant, but distant - whatever sort of vessel he was on, it was big. They didn’t pass any windows, just hiked down grey metal halls. The musty smell in here made him think this place didn’t see much fresh air, either. From time to time they passed other Asgardians. Most of them were wounded. Little things. Cuts. Bruises. Not many bandages. Not much talking.

This didn’t look good. Bruce wasn’t surprised, given what they’d been trying to get the Asgardians out of, but it didn’t look good.

At last Bruce heard the murmur of voices. Signs of life. One last door, and his Asgardian guide ushered him into a huge open area, packed with people. Asgardians. It stunk of sweat and blood in here. Too many bodies in too small a space.

Beyond them, there was a huge window, looking out into space. _Space_ -space, not looking-out-over-Asgard space. What the hell happened? Where _were_ they? He strained to get an impression from the Hulk, and failed. Nothing. Felt like he’d been locked in that metaphorical trunk again. Locked in the metaphorical trunk and dragged somewhere into space. Again.

He was never going to see Earth again, was he?

“Master Banner?”

Right. King to meet. Sooner or later he’d have to track down Thor and ask what happened back on Asgard. They’d never been the closest of friends on Earth, but here and now he was the only friendly, familiar face within light years. “Sorry,” he said, dragging his eyes away from the view.

Only, Bruce saw as they wound their way through the crowd, he _was_ being taken to Thor, who seemed to be doing some rounds. Oh, man. He could do the monarchy math. If Thor was king, that meant his father was dead. Thor had actually _liked_ his dad and had a decent enough relationship with him, from what Bruce could recall, which made him as much of an alien amongst the Avengers as his actually being an alien did. He’d been cut up when his mom died too, something to do with the thing in Greenwich last - no, that had to be almost four years ago. There were two years totally unaccounted for in his memory.

Thor spotted him before his guide could say anything. “Banner! You’re awake!”

Bruce stared. A friendly face, yes, but - “What happened to your _eye_?”

“My sister cut it out,” Thor replied with what Bruce strongly felt was inappropriate good cheer. To Bruce’s guide, he said, “Could I trouble you to find some clothing for Banner, if any can be spared?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she said, and stepped away. Thor reached out for Bruce and started guiding him to a somewhat more open area nearer the massive window. All that space. If he wasn’t so exhausted and confused, he’d be itching to take some notes. Tony would kill to see this.

“I have good news for you,” Thor said. “We’re going to Midgard.”

“Earth? _Home_?” He looked out into space again, as though Earth would just be coming into view now. Home. He was going back to Earth!

Then the rest of it hit him. “Wait. Why are _we_ going to Earth?” he asked. “Is everyone here going to Earth? What happened -“

Thor said, “Asgard has been destroyed. The place, that is. All that survives of Asgard is on this ship.”

Bruce turned back to the open room. It was crowded, yes, but there could only be a few thousand people on board, and the golden city they’d flown over looked like it had been home to millions. Everyone they’d passed had been quiet. Exhausted. Most of them were wounded. There were people lying down on the metal floors and trying to sleep. He’d already smelled the blood in here. “What _happened_?” Bruce asked.

“Not here,” Thor said. He smiled, and this time Bruce thought he could see a trace of strain there. “You’re in luck. Not many people here are so fortunate as to have a private room. I will tell you all.”

There was a shout from elsewhere in the room. Thor frowned and excused himself, promising to return shortly, leaving Bruce to stare out at the stars. Home. He was going home, and he just had to hang on to that.

“Master Banner?”

Bruce’s guide was back, a bundle of clothing in her hands. She offered it to him - pants, a shirt, and a cloak. He was going to need that, because it was more than a bit chilly in here. No shoes, but just looking around, Bruce was surprised he’d been given that much. The Asgardians were down to what they had on their backs, mostly. A few people had weapons beside them. Fewer had small bags. “Thank you,” he said, bemused. “That was fast.”

“Many people here saw you fight Fenris,” she replied. “Those people who had clothes to spare offered them willingly. You have our gratitude.”

It had been the Hulk who fought the giant zombie wolf thing, not him, but Bruce had better sense than to clarify the distinction. Gratitude was not a reaction the Hulk got all that often. “Thank you,” he said again.

At least whatever else he had to face here, he wouldn’t have to face it wearing only half a pair of pants.

 

—

 

You could say this much for the Grandmaster: he knew how to keep his ships full up on booze.

A bunch of it had been commandeered by the healers for wound care, but that left bottles upon bottles mixed with stuff that would more likely infect wounds than do a damn thing to help. That was the stuff Brunnhilde was drinking. She was going to have to be careful with it too, because otherwise it wasn’t going to last until Midgard. She’d taken as much as she could and dragged it back to the little cabin someone had deemed her worthy of. It beat sleeping on the floor like most people were doing.

She didn’t understand very well why His Majesty had picked Midgard, aside from the thing where the Big Guy apparently came from there. Brunnhilde hadn’t known they had berserkers on Midgard. A few millennia living in the asshole of the universe and you lost all track.

That had been the point.

What was she going to do tomorrow? Hela was gone. Exploded into a billion pieces along with the rest of Asgard. There weren’t many monsters out here for her to slay. She’d brought in all the little ships Heimdall saw. Her previous line of work wasn’t happening. And even if she was drinking now, she wasn’t going to be able to drink all day tomorrow.

She should see to the ship’s defences, she thought. She knew spaceships. They had to have some guns on this one, at least. Had to check whether the shielding was in order.

Now that she’d thought of it, she might as well get up and do it. Brunnhile debated bringing her bottle along, and decided against it. She was a Valkyrie again, and Valkyries did not drink on duty. If she did, she might have to report to herself and take herself off duty. Brunnhilde snorted. Dagny, her captain, would have found it funny. Brunnhilde had never wanted to lead so much as a squad. Too much responsibility. Too much making people follow the rules.

The bridge on this ship was up top and set a little further back from the nose than on most spaceships. It was meant for carrying troops and/or slaves for Sakaar’s gladiatorial contests; it hadn’t been designed for agility. Shields and guns were what stopped this sort of ship getting attacked by pirates.

The walk to the bridge seemed longer than it was, since she had to focus on walking in a straight line. When she got there, she looked up to find the place occupied mostly by former gladiators.

Asgardians, Brunnhilde remembered, didn’t _do_ space freight. Of course there weren’t going to be many up here actually helping to pilot the ship. She was going to have to talk to His Majesty about that. They needed everyone they could get on the ship’s systems. They needed shifts and co-pilots and redundancies. Space freighting wasn’t elegant, but nothing about this situation was. Time they learned.

The gladiators were wary of her, and not exactly up for a chat, either. She couldn’t blame them for that. She’d put on her shiny white and gold armour, but that didn’t mean they’d see her as anything but Scrapper 142. Still, they didn’t pitch a fit when she asked the lizard-guy on shields if he could shove aside so she could have a look. Everything seemed in order. The shields were a little weak, but if they should run across any pirates, they weren’t totally screwed. Just a bit screwed. They’d be better off boarding any pirates and dealing with their ships the way she and His Majesty dealt with the dogfight back on Sakaar.

The ship’s guns were in worse shape. Powerful, yes, but prone to overheating. Any firefights they got into would have to be short and sweet.

Task done, Brunnhilde went to make a report. Someone better be happy to hear all this.

On her laborious way back to the main hall - still walking in a perfectly straight line, thank you very much - she passed a scruffy man of maybe four or five hundred thousand years old who looked awfully familiar. “Wait,” she said. “Banner, right?”

“Ah, yeah,” the man said. “You’re Thor’s friend. The Valkyrie. Right?”

“Don’t know you could say we’re friends,” Brunnhilde said. You didn’t just _make friends_ with Odin’s son. That wasn’t how royalty worked. Or at least it hadn’t been when she was last in Asgard, because Odin didn’t have a son, only a daughter, and nobody made friends with Hela either.

“I don’t know,” he said, with a crooked sort of smile. “Thor seems to like you. He’s a pretty friendly guy.”

It wasn’t how royalty worked, unless you were a crazy Midgardian - not a few hundred thousand years old, but younger than a lot of the children on board - who turned into a big green guy that hit harder than just about anyone Brunnhilde had ever met. “Look,” she said, “I don’t know the first thing about where you come from, but here we don’t just pal around with our kings. We don’t call them by their first names either. We just don’t.”

Banner looked taken aback for about point five seconds, then smiled again. “Consider it a heads up, then. If he wants to be friends, he’ll probably find a way.”

That was exactly what Brunnhilde was afraid of. But she wasn’t going to say that to this guy.

The gap in conversation lingered a bit too long, but Banner didn’t seem bothered by it. At last, he stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Bruce. Sorry about your planet.”

“Brunnhilde,” she said, and returned the gesture. “I didn’t like it much anyway.” If she said it enough, maybe she could even convince herself it wasn’t any different, knowing that Asgard wasn’t there to go back to. She’d helped save the people and defeat Hela. That was what she’d wanted. The murderous hag was dead and that was good enough for her. “Hey. Wanna spar sometime?”

If she couldn’t drink to her heart’s content, she could try and get some of the frustration out through fighting. The Big Guy could stand it.

“Oh,” Bruce said, rubbing his hands together nervously. He really didn’t have much swagger. She’d never met a fighter so anxious. “I, uh, I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Me and the Hulk…we don’t get along so well. His sort of fighting, especially on a spaceship - I just don’t think it’d be smart.”

Now that wasn’t the truth. She wasn’t stupid. She could tell when someone was lying to her. “Okay,” she shrugged. Of course she wouldn’t get a good fight. “Maybe later then. The spaceship’ll stand a bit of roughhousing, just so you know. They build them pretty tough.”

She made to leave - if she wasn’t sparring, she might as well go back to drinking - when Bruce said, “You don’t seem all that worried about the Hulk.”

Brunnhilde frowned. “Why would I be? You’re the best training partner I’ve had off Asgard itself. The big green you, anyway. We fought plenty on Sakaar. Just let me know if you change your mind about sparring. Sooner or later I’m going to want to hit something for real.”

This time, Bruce let her go, apparently astounded. Midgardians were strange. Scared of the Big Guy? Ha. And she was going to have to get used to a whole planet full of that. Maybe she'd miss Asgard just a little more than she thought she would have.

 

—

 

“We cannot keep the orphans grouped as they are,” the elder named Gudmundr said. He was the second-eldest Asgardian living, and the eldest of sound mind. “They should not be left alone in their grief. They need adult supervision. Families.”

“They need to mourn,” Jorunnr said. An architect and engineer in her later middle years, she had lost both her sons to Hela, her husband and her sister to fighting on the bridge. “Neither the children nor those looking after them will be well served by forcing the bonds of a new family over those so recently severed.”

From those words a discussion broke out. It was, at least, a discussion rather than an argument. Thor listened to it all. They had many orphans aboard, even when more distant relations had taken in their kin, and kith had assumed responsibility for kith. Well over two hundred children without official caretakers of any sort. The people of Asgard had protected their children as best they could, often at the cost of their own lives. Now, the five people before him had assumed chief responsibility for those children.

At last, when there was a gap in the conversation, Thor said, “Family can be chosen. At any time.” As his parents had chosen Loki, once. Thor himself never had. Loki had been kin to him from the start as much as any blood sibling, by the choices his parents made. Just as he was kin to Loki. In the meantime, he thought hard, since both sides had a point and a decision had to be made. “I don’t want people claiming children who cannot manage their own grief to do their best by their new family. Nor do I want to see siblings separated, nor those orphans who would claim each other as kin.”

“That will take some time to assess and organise,” Alf said. He had been a teacher. Thor thought he might be a teacher again, one day, but in the meantime none had done more than Alf to watch over the very orphans they were now discussing.

“Better slowly than in haste,” Thor said. In Valhalla, his friends and his parents were probably laughing at him for saying it. Not even Ragnarok could teach you caution, more than one of his teachers had said, back when he was a boy. He’d proved them wrong. “In the meantime, they’ll be cared for as they have been. You and yours have been doing the best job anyone could ask of you.”

Their children were the future of Asgard. A cliche, even on Midgard, but Thor felt it keenly now. They had to look after each other.

He stood. He was still needed elsewhere. “When people _do_ claim orphaned children,” he said, “notify me. I would offer my blessing to every family so formed in these times, in person.”

Next, he had to visit the crop rooms, on the lowest level of the ship. Thor forged through the corridors and down the elevators, smiling and greeting people as he went. It was getting easier, he thought. Maybe a little.

Thor had only been on a few space cruisers in his life. He’d worked in the crop rooms of one, even, as he travelled in search of the Infinity Stones. This room wasn’t so different to the one he’d laboured in, humid and claustrophobic. Narrow, densely-packed columns for accelerated hydroponics stretched from floor to ceiling, each covered with greenery. Thor could see three crops growing to each pole, of which he recognised only the plant named to him as crewleaf (because it was what you fed the crew).

“Allfather?” The young woman who approached him was not one he knew. Uninjured, he was glad to see, though the shadows under her eyes were dark. There was no telling whether it was grief, poor sleep, or both.

“Just coming to see the situation here,” he said. “I’m not looking forward to a diet of crewleaf. Nobody’s ever made it taste anything other than foul.”

She turned to the columns. “Which one is crewleaf, your majesty?”

“The dark, broad leaves up the top of each pole,” he said.

“Oh, the Spacer’s Blood? It grows fast, though, and it’s very nutritious.”

“In my experience, that’s the highest praise you can possibly give it,” Thor said. “What else do we have here?”

In the following minutes, Thor learned several things. First, he was speaking to Ketrildr. Second, a woman named Hreidunn, who had been a farmer on Asgard, had taken up charge here. Third, while the crops here provided for most Asgardian nutritional needs, without more protein they would all eventually sicken.

Hreidunn, when Thor spoke to her, confirmed what Ketrildr said. “We also need people here to harvest the crops,” she said. “Most decent ships use machines for this work, but this one used the slaves it carried.”

“The work would have kept them docile,” Thor said darkly. “How many people would you require, and how often?”

This sort of thing was why he didn’t want to be king even in the best of times. It was so incredibly dull, Thor sympathised with Loki’s neglect of his duties while posing as their father. They were fleeing the ruins of their planet in a stolen spaceship to start a new life, and the best thing Thor could do for his people was juggle rosters. Hardly the stuff of song and story. Not quite at the stage yet where Thor felt like commissioning a play of his own exploits.

He did not get a chance to speak to Banner again that day, nor the Valkyrie. A shame, since he was hoping that this time she would at last give him her name - he’d learned it from Heimdall already, but that was hardly the point. Thor did not even get a chance to speak to Heimdall himself again. Loki, he learned, had already stripped several rooms of their valuables and taken the Commodore to find a trading post, just as Thor had asked.

Again, Thor found himself trusting that Loki would return. No tricks needed this time. It had been a long time since he had been able to trust Loki. It made for a good change, almost worth the loneliness he felt right now. Soon Loki would be back to his lack of predictability and fooling Thor at every other turn at least.

And hopefully, when Loki returned, he would have a good tale or three of swindling unethical merchants of every valuable they had. That and the good sense to fill the Commodore’s small hold with medicines and protein paste.

 

—

 

Loki smiled, and said, “A pleasure doing business with you.”

He was nearly done selling his hard-earned goods. Not for nothing did a son of Odin play interior decorator, no matter how dire the circumstances were. While he did not dare sell illusory goods, a touch of illusion magic never failed to make real goods look more appealing, and fetch a commensurately higher price. He always had enjoyed the cut and thrust of skilled bartering.

This particular outpost was savage, chaotic, and lawless. Loki had done very well here indeed. He did so hope his brother would be impressed.

The only question that remained to him was whether he stayed here on this outpost, or whether he ventured more fuel to travel to a planet where his remaining goods would fetch a higher price, and his profits purchase more food. He checked the Commodore’s nav system for the nearest suitable planet, then ran calculations. He’d definitely need to refuel, which would cut into profits. Was it still worth it?

In his opinion, it depended on how well he could bargain.

That settled the matter, as far as he was concerned. He tried to raise the Statesman on his comms, but they were out of range. Thor would just have to do without him for another day or so. He accelerated towards his new destination, feeling unusually light-hearted.

Loki’s good mood lasted as he bought up all the provisions he could fit in the Commodore. Protein paste was the way to go - more portable, and it couldn’t be grown on board the Statesman. He invested in medicines too, for much the same reason. This planet was not quite so chaotic or lawless, but its bartering culture was strong.

He was just trying to sell his last item - a horribly tacky sculpture - when the man next to him in the line said, “I’d hold on to that if I were you, boy.”

Loki decided to ignore the ‘boy’ part. He was fifteen hundred, far older than the creature he was speaking to. “Why is that?” he asked.

“That’s Xandarian,” the man said. “Keep it and find a proper dealer, don’t waste it out here. I’m doing you a favour. Not much left of Xandar these days.”

While the art dealer squawked his protests - something Loki took as proof of the man’s claims - he felt a chill of foreboding. “Not much left of Xandar?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “What happened to it?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Where’ve you been? Xandar was attacked last week. Half the population’s been killed, and a lot more than that razed to the ground.”

Half. Oh, no. “Who did it?” Loki asked.

A shrug. “Kree, probably. They hold a grudge.”

“No,” Loki said, heart beating hard. “Kree extremists wouldn’t stop at half.” He gave a shallow bow and tried to work moisture back into his mouth. “Thank you for the news.”

He sold the sculpture anyway, and blasted off towards the Statesman as fast as he could. There was only one creature in the universe who would stop at half of Xandar, and only one reason why that creature would go to Xandar in the first place.

They truly were running out of time. All of them.


	3. A Fall

Now that Bruce was alone, it seemed like a good time to freak out. Maybe hyperventilate a little. Try not to turn right back into the Hulk. That sort of thing. Asgard destroyed. Blasted to smithereens. Bruce searched all the memory he could and only managed the vaguest impression of a fire giant that the Hulk had _really_ wanted to fight.

Okay, so apparently the worst of the danger was past, but it was so not comforting to know that there was still stuff out there that could toss Thor around like a ragdoll (and by extension, probably the Other Guy too). Worse was seeing Thor truly upset as he spoke of ordering Asgard’s destruction himself. Thor didn’t _get_ upset, not like that, not in Bruce’s experience. Even after the thing in Greenwich and losing half his family he’d bounced back in a few days and a thunderstorm or two.

He suspected that Thor was leaving a lot of stuff out, and that he’d made himself smile afterwards. Maybe he’d been doing that all along. Bruce hadn’t had the time to press him, as Thor had needed to go oversee something to do with rationing.

And then there was Loki. Loki was definitely worth hyperventilating a bit over. It was one thing to know he was alive and to see him chained up, and another to be stuck on a spaceship with him for weeks or months or however long the trip to Earth was going to take. He didn’t even have to strain for vague impressions of memory to know that the Hulk hated Loki just as much as Bruce did.

Thor had said he’d try to keep them apart as best he was able, but they were going to be stuck on a faster-than-light tin can for weeks. Bruce didn’t know much about Loki’s social life, but after the shit he’d pulled, he was willing to bet that Loki’s friendship circle was effectively limited to his brother right now. Much like Bruce’s. Their paths were going to cross. And Bruce would be a really bad friend if he refused to see how happy the idea of having Loki around, alive, and not trying to murder random people or take over the world made Thor.

At least Brunnhilde seemed nice (and beautiful, and strong), even if she was blase about the Hulk. Asgardians were strange.

It was hard to sleep in the little cabin he’d been given. Space, it turned out, was cold; the ship’s heating was only designed to keep everyone at ‘not freezing to death’ levels; and Thor had apologised for not being able to spare him a blanket. He was lucky to have a bed at all, much less a cabin of his own. Most of the Asgardians were sleeping double and/or in shifts, with little comfort and less privacy. Once he dropped off, he slept okay, and woke an indeterminate amount of time later. This was going to play merry hell with his circadian rhythms, he already knew.

The next challenge turned out to be bathing. All the little cabins in this hall shared a bathroom, which Thor had pointed out to him. Only, bathrooms in space were a bit different to any Earth bathrooms he’d seen. _Seven PhDs, Banner. You’ve flown an alien spaceship, now work out how to use an alien shower._

He got kind of clean, anyway. Could have sworn that he passed a man (Being? Individual?) made of rocks on the way out, too.

Then he went to try and find some food. As he passed through the halls, he could already hear a bit more noise than the day before, the people of Asgard shaking themselves out of their shock. People were talking to each other a bit more - and whispers were starting to follow Bruce.

That, at least, was a familiar sort of thing. It started with whispering. Bruce could only hope that it didn’t end with them throwing him out an airlock. He didn’t know if the Other Guy could survive that, and he didn’t care to test it either. The word _Fenris_ recurred a bit in the whispering. He could only hope they were more impressed than afraid.

It took a little while to find the cafeteria, but he knew the line for it when he saw it. It stretched out of the room and down the hall. Inside, it was strangely Earth-like, with its serving station near the entrance and its long tables. _That_ was what the Asgardians were lining up for, not the food. The food - the food did not look so promising, even from a distance. Even less so the closer Bruce drew to the serving station.

“Have you eaten today?” the man on duty asked Bruce. He had the look of a man who was holding on to his sanity through his job. If Bruce was any judge, he’d work until he dropped.

“No,” Bruce said, and was thusly issued with half a dozen leaves (fresh, which was a surprise; they had to be growing somewhere), a tablespoon or so of clear pink jelly, and a cup of water. It did not look appetising, but his stomach growled and so Bruce took a bite of his mysterious space leaves.

And nearly gagged.

God, what _was_ that? The flavour was strong and bitter, thick and almost pine-y, coating every taste bud even when he gulped down some water to try and wash it out. And he’d thought brussels sprouts were bad. He could only hope that it wasn’t actually poisonous to humans.

It was clearly all he’d be getting. The Asgardians were eating the exact same thing, with the exact same enthusiasm Bruce had for this meal. He choked the rest down, chased by the jelly - it tasted better than the leaves, slightly salty, but the texture was somehow both tough and slimy. Eating it wasn’t any pleasanter a culinary experience.

He felt like an ungrateful ass, afterwards, but less hungry.

That was his body’s basic needs attended to. What now? What did you _do_ on a spaceship, especially when you didn’t know anyone? There had to be something. Some way he could help.

Time to go find Thor, he supposed. Thor was probably the best starting-point if he was looking for work.

As he wandered the spaceship, Bruce couldn’t help but think that Tony would kill to get a look at most of this stuff. He hadn’t had the chance to check out the first spaceship’s engines and shielding, but this was different again. The Commodore was a race car. This was a cruise liner. The technology needed to keep this many people alive for weeks at a time…whatever he ended up doing here on the trip to Earth, he had to look at as much of the ship as possible.

He might kill to have Tony up here, too. He could see this trip getting very lonely, very fast.

 

—

 

Summoning new armour was always an irritating chore. It required time. Energy. Concentration. Things Thor hadn’t had much to spare in the past few days.

He had to do it, though, and so he’d made the time. How many people did they have left who knew this skill? It was often the only magic warriors learned, it was magic not often learned by any _but_ warriors, and only a very few warriors had survived Hela and the fight on the Bifrost. Most of them were very young. Thor himself might have to do his part teaching this magic to their next generation. Or to whoever cared to learn. The thought was enough to make him laugh. While he’d learned to summon armour readily enough, he’d never had any gift for teaching anything but fighting. They were scraping the bottom of the barrel if _he_ had to instruct in magic.

He took a deep breath, closed the eye that remained to him, and focused. New armour was always more difficult than armour he’d already constructed, but his mental image of the last set was damaged. He’d never get the paint from Sakaar out, nor get rid of that awful blue pauldron. He couldn’t wear something from the old Asgard. He wasn’t the man he’d been when he’d made the last set.

This set should be simple. Plain. Asgard had little enough to flaunt. Asgard itself was not what it was when last Thor had summoned new armour. Asgard-that-was had been built on blood and tears, as Hela had told him; the Asgard that Thor was king of now would also be built on blood and tears. Their own, this time. There was no way around it. No shining silver armour for him this time. Not even the minimal ornamentation he’d left on the nondescript, light travelling armour he’d been using in his travels. Just the basics. Anything else would not be fitting.

Electricity sparked deep in his veins, then crawled out to play over his skin as he worked his magic, bright and fiercely alive. It was very different to wielding Mjolnir. More intimate. There was nothing between him and the storm this way. There was hardly a _difference_ between him and the storm this way. Tempting as it was to test these powers in a situation that wasn’t life-or-death, he restrained himself and focused on his armour. It wouldn’t be long now.

At last he felt the new armour settle over him. Not bad, in terms of fit. A bit heavier than the last set, but not so much it would make a difference in a fight. When he looked in the mirror, after the spike of loss when he saw the eyepatch and his shorn hair, he knew he had the armour he wanted.

It was most certainly plain. Simple, unrelieved black from collar to boots. He’d go with this.

Thor had no sooner stepped out of his room when a messenger caught up with him. “Your Majesty,” the young man said, “Your brother the prince has returned. He says he needs to speak to you urgently.”

“Loki is back?” Thor asked, just to confirm, and the messenger nodded. It was strange, hearing that. It had been _years_ since anyone had been able to casually inform Thor that his brother was back from one of his frequent jaunts. It felt so long ago, even though it had been little more than half a decade. For all he’d lost, he had this back.

No - that wasn’t right. He had this for the first time, like he’d thought he would when they were growing up, now that they weren’t separated by his own arrogance and childishness or Loki’s bitterness. Now that Loki need not feel he was only there by Thor's side to make up for Thor’s own deficits.

He thanked the messenger and headed towards the airlock where they’d been parking the Commodore. Hopefully whatever his brother had to tell him, it also included details of all the provisions he’d brought back.

There was a small group unloading boxes of just the protein paste Thor had been hoping for when he arrived. To his surprise, that number included Loki himself, looking drawn and harried. “How much?” Thor asked.

“About four days worth,” Loki said, as Thor hauled the last box out of the ship. “Plus a few bottles of painkillers, fever aids, and wound sealant. The cheap stuff, I’m afraid, nowhere near as good as healing stones, but it has to be better than nothing.”

Thor exhaled heavily and nodded his agreement. “I’m told you need to speak to me.”

Loki’s eyes flickered from side to side and he said, very quietly, “Not here.”

“Very well. My rooms, then.” Thor smiled. Easier and easier. He had learned how to lie, over these past few years. “Since you were so kind as to leave me two chairs.”

By contrast, his brother seemed to get more transparent as the years went on. Or maybe the signs were always there, and Thor was just now catching up. Loki was tense - tenser still than when he’d departed. He moved like a hunted animal, as though any second now he expected another catastrophe to descend from the skies. But his voice was still light and even as he said, “I see your fashion sense grows worse by the year.”

“My friends on Midgard tell me basic black never goes out of style.”

“And yet you told me _I_ dressed like a witch.”

“The black shirt was a bit much. Besides, I’ve never seen a witch in armour.” He gestured at himself. “This is most assuredly armour.”

They kept the banter up as they made their way back to Thor’s quarters. Neither of their hearts were truly in it. Loki, it seemed, was desperate to keep up a front, whatever was worrying him. Thor could wait another minute or so.

But when Loki sat down, words seemed to fail him. That was more worrying than almost anything else could be. “What is it?” he asked his brother.

Loki swallowed hard, and said, “Xandar has been attacked.”

Xandar? Thor searched his memory. “The primary city-planet of the Nova Empire?”

“The very same.”

What did he remember about the Nova Empire? Not all that much. They were wealthy and powerful, not as advanced as Asgard, and distant. A bit less distant now than they had been, but still very far away. Thor frowned. “Why are you concerned?”

“Because it has been all but destroyed,” Loki snapped. “Half the population of one of the universe’s great empires were killed in the space of days. That makes two this week.”

“Are you suggesting if we wait a few more days, nobody will ever have to trouble themselves about the Kree? The Nova Empire’s troubles are unlikely to have anything to do with ours,” Thor pointed out. “Unless Hela drew her power from Xandar as well. Nor are we in a position to aid them, nor were we planning to go anywhere near their space, so unless -“

A horrible thought struck him.

“Unless. You are familiar with whoever or whatever attacked Xandar,” Thor said heavily. “ _Loki_.”

“I may have some familiarity with their general situation, yes,” Loki admitted. “Brother. Xandar held the Power Stone.”

Thor’s mouth went dry. “Tell me everything,” he ordered his brother, through what felt like a mouthful of sand. “Now.”

Loki was silent for a long moment, but when he finally spoke, it sounded like he was having the same troubles with his mouth that Thor was. “His name is Thanos,” Loki said.

 

—

 

Loki told him most of it. Not all. Most. Enough.

His brother listened to it more calmly than Loki thought he might, by which he meant that he only saw Thor’s fingers twitch as if to summon Mjolnir twice. It was perhaps fortunate that Mjolnir was nothing but particularly dense, particularly magical scrap on a Midgardian coast somewhere. And when Loki was finished speaking, Thor said, “We need to discuss this with our friends.”

He scoffed. “Hardly _my_ -“

“ _Our_ friends,” Thor said firmly. “They are your friends now too. You’re going to need every friend you can get.”

The beast. Bruce. A friend? Loki didn’t even bother stifling his laughter. The beast would never be his friend, and nor would its other face. He doubted that any on Midgard would welcome him to their realm. They had ample reason not to. “Fine, then,” Loki said, mustering as much sugary insincerity as he could. “ _Friends_.”

Thor simply rolled his eyes - eye - at Loki before walking out to get a messenger. Loki, for his part, was struck anew by the realisation he was going to have to work harder to rile his brother these days. Damn. It had been good while it lasted.

And now he was going to have to sit here while Thor told everyone things Loki had hoped never to reveal to another living soul. His madness. His _weakness_.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” Thor said as they waited. “Maybe we could have helped you better, before.”

Loki shrugged uncomfortably. He wouldn’t have told Thor even now if it wasn’t necessary. Then and now, he had his pride. “There was little you could have done, past a certain point,” he said. “We can’t know.”

_We_ could have helped. Thor spoke of their mother more than Odin with those words. Even now Loki could hardly bear to think of her.

Fortunately, Heimdall arrived before the moment could grow any more unbearable. He’d seen the messenger, no doubt, if he was not above spying on his king. Thor greeted him, and then said, “Tell me what you see of Xandar. Loki has brought disturbing news.”

Within seconds, a flicker passed over the Watchman’s face. Loki’s heart sank. In some childish part of his mind, he’d hoped that he’d been mistaken about Xandar’s fate, given poor information. Better that he was wrong than Thanos started on his plan. “Roughly half of Xandar’s population has been destroyed,” Heimdall reported. “The name Thanos is on every tongue.”

There went hope.

“Can you see where this Thanos is now?” Thor asked.

Heimdall shook his head. “He’s hidden.” He looked at Loki and said, “I have seen the after-effects of Thanos’ massacres, from a distance. This is the same.”

“We can’t have anything being easy,” Thor said. “At least part of Loki’s news is confirmed, then.”

The Valkyrie was the next to arrive. She took one look at them and said, “I’m going to need a _lot_ more booze for this, aren’t I?” Then, with no seats left for her, she flopped down on Thor’s bed. Then Korg arrived, self-effacing to the point of vacant.

The last one to arrive was the beast, back in his human skin. “Oh. The whole gang,” he said. He glanced at Loki nervously. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing Bruce was still scared of him. “What’s gone catastrophically wrong now?”

“Loki brings news of a being who threatens us and Earth alike,” Thor said. “I left two years ago to find the Infinity Stones, but he tells me that I was not the only one searching. When Loki sought the Tesseract on Earth, he did so at the behest of a creature named Thanos, known in other parts of the universe for attacking populated systems and killing half their population.”

“I’ve heard of Thanos,” the Valkyrie said, staring up at Thor’s ceiling. “Survivors would come to Sakaar, sometimes. Has anyone worked out why he does it yet?”

“He believes the universe is overpopulated,” Loki said, “and the fairest way to fix the problem is to kill half the population of every inhabited planet, indiscriminately.”

There was a horrified silence, which was broken by Korg, of all people. “Seems a bit gory and practically unworkable to me,” he said. “I think in his position I would embark on a solid program of terraforming, atmosphere reclamation, and crop efficiency instead. Possibly supplemented by comprehensive reproduction education. Very effective in reducing population growth on most planets, I hear.”

Just for that, Loki would almost wish Korg of Krona to encounter Thanos. Or the Ebony Maw, perhaps. Their reactions might make Korg’s swiftly following and gruesome death worth it.

“Well said, my friend,” Thor said with a broad grin.

Then Banner said, “Are you saying that Loki wasn’t ultimately responsible for the attack on New York?”

“Yes,” Thor said.

“You shouldn’t,” Loki told his brother.

“Why not?” Thor asked. “You just told me that you fell from the Void into Thanos’ clutches. What options did you have? What _sanity_? You were not well even before Thanos.”

“The bargain was mine,” Loki said. He could feel Banner’s eyes on him. “Do you think Thanos cares who rules on Earth? He cared only for the Tesseract. The rest was me.”

“Loki -”

“No.” He glared at Thor. He still didn’t understand. Even through his own questionable sanity at the time, Loki had seen Thanos for the madman he was, he had seen the opportunity in it - and he had seen, soon enough, how uselessness to Thanos might be treated. “Thanos and his minions scarcely laid a hand on me. Your faith is as touching as it is unwarranted.”

Thor glared back. “Not _entirely_ unwarranted.”

From the bed, Valkyrie groaned. “Royalty. Whatever this Newyokk thing is that Lackey attacked, it’s not the problem now.” She sat up. “What are we going to do about Thanos? Is he coming for us or Midgard?”

“Both,” Thor said. “The Tesseract might have been destroyed on Asgard, but we had it last, and so Thanos will come for us. There is another Infinity Stone on Earth, so Thanos will come for them too. Neither I nor Loki know which he might strike first.”

“Well we gotta warn them, then,” Banner said. “We can’t just let this Thanos wipe out half of Earth!”

“I agree.” Thor looked to Korg. “Can this ship go any faster?”

The Kronan shook his head. A rock fell off as he did. “Not as such, no.”

“Heimdall?”

“I am still weakened by my injury,” Heimdall said, breaking his silence. “I could send someone to Midgard in three days. Two, at least.”

Banner stepped forward. “Thor, it’s got to be me. I have to -“ he ran his hands through his hair. “I have to warn them.”

Inspiration struck. “You should send two people,” Loki suggested. “If you mean for us to stay on Earth, they should be warned of our arrival too. Bruce is…worthy…but he is not of Asgard. One of our people should go with him, prepare the way for us, and lend aid to Earth’s defences.”

“Banner can be of Asgard if he wants to,” Thor said, “but that is a good idea.”

Thus prompted, Loki could see his brother’s thinking, clear as day. Korg was an unsuitable emissary for the same reason Banner was. Heimdall would never consent to be sent away from Asgard and his king, even if he _were_ the diplomatic type. The Valkyrie was still alienated from most Asgardians, and a drunk besides. If Lady Sif had been there, Thor would have chosen her, but she wasn’t. That left only one whom Thor would trust with this task. “Loki,” Thor said. “I hate to ask…”

They would argue about it, mostly for show on Loki’s part. Banner would argue too, and his objections would be real. But this was opportunity.

For if Loki went to Midgard, Thanos would seek the Tesseract from him on Midgard, and their people would be safe from Thanos a little longer. Thor would be safe a little longer.

 

—

 

Brunnhilde’s luck had run out. His Majesty was bearing down on her himself. Like a stormcloud, kind of, if she’d ever associated stormclouds with cheerful smiling before she met him. “Oh no,” she said. “You do not get to tell me that we’re all about to get attacked by something else big, mean, and ugly, and then come after me grinning. I am not drunk enough for that, and I’m not going to _be_ drunk enough until we’re on Midgard.”

“I thought we could both use a little friendly training,” he said, undeterred.

“You’re missing an eye,” she pointed out, just in case he’d forgotten. From what she’d seen of his fighting on Sakaar and Asgard, she thought that with two eyes they’d be about evenly matched in skill, the contest down to his greater reach and strength against her greater speed and agility. With one eye, he didn’t have a chance unless he used his lightning, and then _she’d_ be the one with no chance. Probably dead soon afterwards, too, so she didn’t think he’d bring out the flashy powers. “I’m going to kick your ass all over this spaceship.”

Nope. No luck. “Better you than Thanos,” he said. “I need to get used to it, and I don’t have more than half an hour before anyone finds me. Please?”

Brunnhilde hadn’t known that Odin even taught his children to say ‘please’. Or ‘thank you,’ for purposes other than being smug. “Oh, all right,” she said, and rolled around his blind side to kick his right knee out from under him.

The fight doesn’t last long, and as predicted, it ended in her favour. One eye or two, he’s formidable. Not as strong as the Big Guy, but more disciplined, and it seems no sooner has he tapped out of their first match than he’s ready for the second with no hard feelings about the loss. By the time she was done kicking his ass, Brunnhilde was smiling despite herself.

Not that she planned to admit he was right.

They had to stop sooner than she’d like, since they just didn’t have the rations to replenish themselves properly. Food, water, oxygen, heat - just because they can go without for a while doesn’t mean they should, and it sure wasn’t fun in the meantime. Better to spend their own energy wisely while they could make those choices. “When we get to Earth,” she said, giving him a hand up from his good side, “I’m gonna enjoy a drink of water, too.”

“I’ve missed Earth food while I’ve been away,” His Majesty said. “There’s more variety in their cuisine than on most planets.”

“ _Everyone’s_ going to be glad when we’re not eating spacer meals.”

“True. Everyone’s going to be glad when everyone else can properly bathe, too.”

“Says the man with the only steam-shower on board.”

This felt like camaraderie. This could almost be bantering with one of her sisters-in-arms. It had been thousands of years, but all of a sudden she missed them like she’d seen them only yesterday, like any minute now Dagny would come around the corner to scold her about picking fights, Hlif and Ragnhildr laughing and ready to join in instead, Aslaug pacing quietly to calm her pre-battle nerves, and Sigrid, Sigrid most of all, Sigrid worried about her horse, Sigrid tying her golden hair back, Sigrid just sitting next to her, hand on hers, warm and alive and so beautiful -

And here she was, sitting with the brother of the woman who’d murdered them all, the son of the man who’d sacrificed them without a second thought.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Brunnhilde shook her head and waved him off. Showing a scrap of common sense, more than she thought he had anyway, he stayed back.

It was a damn good thing he looked more like his mother, Brunnhilde thought, wanting another drink so badly it hurt. Otherwise she might have killed him back on Sakaar just for daring to ask her help when he didn’t have a _clue_ what his family had taken from her. If he’d looked anything like Hela it would have been too much for her to stand. As it was, Lackey made her fingers twitch.

Speaking of -

“You know he’s up to something,” she said, glad to send her thoughts down a different path. “Your brother.”

“It seems likely,” His Majesty said.

“Any clever plans this time?” He’d never said how he’d convinced his brother to come back to Asgard, but whatever he’d done worked. Spectacularly.

“Nope. I’m just going to trust him.”

Brunnhilde groaned and leaned back against the wall. Her armour made a _clunk_ sound as it hit, another reminder of what she wore again. “How did you survive to adulthood, again?”

He chuckled. “I sometimes wonder that myself, looking back.” Then he grew more serious. “He’s had three good chances to leave in the past few days, and he came back each time. I’m willing to trust that whatever he’s planning, it won’t hurt me, or Asgard as a whole. I doubt he’ll prove so trustworthy to my friends and allies on Earth, but I trust them not to trust him, and I’ll just have to sort out the rest later.”

“In that case, you’re welcome to it,” she said. “That sort of crap is exactly why I never wanted to be in charge of anything.”

Something flickered across his face.

“Oh, no,” Brunnhilde said. “No. I can’t.”

“You’re the only senior warrior we have left,” His Majesty said. “Someone has to take charge of training more, and you know I’d rather do it myself, I’ll still help however I can, but - I have other things to do, too, and I can’t just let our people remain defenceless when I could ask you to do what I cannot.”

_This is about the people, and they’re dying, and they’re your people too._ Damn it all. If she hadn’t already seen that he meant it, she could say no. Instead, just like she’d agreed to train with him, she said, “Fine. I think you’ll regret this, but I’ll do what I can. Your Majesty.”

He smiled at her with palpable relief and gratitude, and said, “You can just use my name, you know.”

“Not in public, I can’t,” she said, more snappishly than she probably should. “Not with what you just appointed me to.”

Odin’s son, Hela’s brother, the king of Asgard, he didn’t take offense, just inclined his head respectfully and headed off towards whatever it was kings did aside from wrangling with troublesome siblings.

“Wait!” she called after him. “Thor!”

He turned.

“My name’s Brunnhilde,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your comments, kudos, and bookmarks!


	4. Life on Earth

It would take Heimdall a few more days to summon the dark energy to send two people to Midgard than just one. The delay chafed at Thor. Now that the decision had been made, he wanted to see it _done_.

That, and his dreams had changed again. Oh, Surtur was still there when Thor closed his eyes at the end of the day’s cycle, the heat of the blast that had consumed Asgard enveloping him, the faces of the Warriors Three and his father accusing him as they burned - it was a dream, a concoction of grief and guilt, rather than a memory. He knew how to deal with that sort of nightmare. No, it was what the dream became that troubled him, because it felt like the _first_ dreams of Surtur, the ones that had prompted him to Muspelheim in the first place.

Thor dreamed he held an axe, and that in his heart he had become little more than an axe himself, a weapon to be turned on others. His rage and guilt collapsed in on themselves like a star’s cold death as he stood before a terribly wounded monster, until he felt nothing but the need to hurt this creature more. In the dream, consumed, he reached out and dug the axe in a little further, and spoke words the dream ripped from his memory the instant they passed his lips.

Then the creature wheezed a laugh, and Thor woke with a feeling of terrible foreboding.

Three times he’d had that dream now. It disturbed him as much as the dreams of Asgard’s destruction had. Perhaps more, because where those last dreams had warned him of Surtur, these dreams warned of Thor himself. He’d been so empty, and in the waking world he’d already lost so much. To lose more…no, Thor could see the path to the man who wanted nothing more than to cause hurt and fear, and it was a short and bloody one.

Of all the gifts his mother had given him, Thor had to say he liked prophecy least. And that was counting some truly uncomfortable formal tunics she’d made him wear when he was a boy.

Yet there was no point brooding, and no time to do so either. There was little he could do about it save resolve that had he an axe and a wounded monster in front of him, he should just lop its head off and be done. In the meantime there was work to do. Asgard, even an Asgard greatly reduced, did not run itself.

“I just don’t know what you think I can do,” Banner said, when Thor came to him with a request. “You don’t want to know what the students said last time I was in for a teaching evaluation, and I’ve only got a couple of days -”

“We have nobody else,” Thor said. “Most of my people know nothing of Midgard. If you could teach a few of them just a few basic things about Earth, it could be immensely helpful.”

Banner ran his hands through his hair. “I’m no anthropologist, Thor,” he said.

_Use another PhD_ , Thor restrained himself from snapping. It would do far more harm than good. “You’re one of the smartest people I know,” he said instead. “And I know you’ve travelled widely.”

A snort. “Yeah, travelled widely, you could say that. Do you have time to sit down for a bit and help me work out what your people might need for Earth 101? Obviously you’ve got more experience being an alien than I do.”

Thor ran through the other things he’d likely have to do today. “I can make the time,” he said. “I have to check on the children first, and with the pilots.”

Banner nodded and gave way. The orphans of Asgard required a lot of attention, and, well, Thor was Allfather now. Looking after them was ultimately his responsibility, and not one he felt equal to by any means. Would that he could have saved their natural parents.

No use wishing. Thor steeled himself and made the effort to smile. It would not do for the children to think he considered them a burden.

They had decided to give one of the barracks over to the orphans of Asgard during the nights, or what they called nights for convenience’s sake. (During the days, of course, those Asgardians who took up night duties slept there. They needed every bed.) Without the security of their families, they could at least have the security of a bunk. When Thor walked in, it was to the flurry of activity as the children lined up to wash and to clean their clothes as best they were able.

Alf spotted him in seconds, in spite of how busy the room was. “Look, children,” he called, “His Majesty has come to check on us.”

“Indeed I have,” Thor said, looking around, and speaking to the room at large. As with the adults, so with the children - some were finding it easier to carry on than others, and some, no doubt, were more adept at hiding their feelings. “A matter of caution, you understand. When I was young, my brother and I would no doubt have caused a great deal of trouble by this point. Will anyone tell me what they plan to do today?”

This had been a slave ship. Its sytems were not automated as a passenger ship’s would have been, in order to force the slaves to devote their energy to work. Even now that no slaves were aboard, it was necessary to continue doing that work. They could not spare the children. Even young children could clean the living quarters and tend crops for a few hours of the day cycle. Older children could be apprenticed to the engineers, the doctors, the teachers, the pilots, and their few remaining warriors and magicians.

Besides, it was probably better that they had something to occupy them, other than their grief. Thor himself was not sure how well he would be without his work to fill his time.

Some children managed to smile in reply to his own and tell him where they were assigned to clean, or the sorts of crops they were growing. Others shied away. One little boy asked what sort of alien Korg was. “He is a Kronan, though I do not know his past, exactly,” Thor said. “I met him on a planet named Sakaar. You may ask him yourself if you wish, but remember to treat him with all the respect you would show any of your teachers, and if he doesn’t wish to answer, leave him be.”

Several other children wished to know more of Midgard, and Thor answered those questions as best he could - they called it ‘Earth’, it was a far larger planet than Asgard though it controlled far less space, it was true that even the oldest humans were younger than Asgardian children, and so forth.

Then a little girl said, “I want to be a Valkyrie.”

It wasn’t the childish enthusiasm for the idea that Thor had once entertained. On the contrary, there was steel in her eyes and her voice alike. But the girl was very young. He considered her at length, while the girl stared up at him almost defiantly. “What is your name?” He asked at last.

“Ragnfrior,” the girl said.

“Ragnfrior,” Thor repeated. “Very well. I can see that you’re serious. Once you complete your work, you may observe the warriors training, and run errands for them if they need. Learn from them as you will, and when you are old enough, the Valkyrie will decide.”

The girl nodded her thanks and marched off, more determined than she was eager. Her grim demeanour was much like Sif’s, when Sif had been a girl herself.

Fortunately for him, that train of thought was interrupted by another of the orphans, a boy near grown wishing to assume a brother’s responsibility for two younger girls. A glance to Alf to check that the young man was both serious and capable, and Thor turned back to the new family with a genuine smile. “Then from this day forth you are brother and sisters,” he told them. “Let nobody say otherwise!”

That was at least a better thing to think on.

 

—

 

It was one of the more ridiculous situations Bruce had found himself in over the years, and he considered himself well versed in ridiculous situations. Here he was, on a spaceship full of aliens, heading back to Earth after a series of adventures that some might describe as ‘wacky’ (but that he, personally, would also describe as ‘traumatic’), he needed to try and teach them a bit about Earth before they arrived, and Bruce couldn’t find pen and paper for brainstorming.

Mind you, if he focused on trying to find pen and paper, he didn’t have to think about this Thanos person wanting to wipe out half the universe. How did you even go about that sort of plan? How did you even _think_ of it?

Pen and paper. Helping the nice aliens who were giving him a lift home, and who’d shared their food and clothes with him. That was the thing he could do right now. Freaking out came later.

He started his search by looking through the cabin he’d been assigned to, and then moved on to Thor’s. Thor wouldn’t take offence at that, he knew. Unfortunately, when he opened the door, it looked like someone had been through Thor’s cabin already and stripped it practically bare.

Bruce’s money was on Loki, and _god_ but it was weird to see him actually pulling an obnoxious little brother stunt. Sure, it was one thing to hear it, Thor had always been firm on the fact that his brother hadn’t always been the vicious would-be tyrant the Avengers had fought. As far as Bruce had always been concerned, Loki was supervillain first, friend’s brother second - only here, it seemed, he might have those roles backwards.

He needed to talk with Thor about that, too. Loki on Earth? That wasn’t going to go well.

Pen and paper, Banner, stay focused. There had to be _something_ on this ship he could use to jot down ideas.

He didn’t dare rummage through anyone else’s private cabins, even though all anyone had here were the clothes on their backs. A small bag at most. Not much at all. Where next, then? Maybe the people who were trying to teach the Asgardian kids? Surely if anyone here had that sort of thing, it would be them.

Only not, Bruce saw, approaching the class group of ragged children. Their teacher was telling them stories, rather than setting them to writing. The group was surprisingly well-behaved. Bruce wondered if the kids had the energy to be anything _but_ quiet and attentive. He listened for a little while - it was a story about the first days of the old Asgard, and if Bruce had to bet, the teacher was telling it to comfort the kids.

He didn’t think he should interrupt. Unfortunately, the teacher, he didn’t know her name, spotted him, and asked him to stay for a few minutes. “Children, this is Master Banner,” she said. “Did anyone see his other form fighting on the Rainbow Bridge?”

A ripple of interest went through the Asgardian children, all of whom probably had a good century or two on Bruce. Several of them turned wide eyes on him, and it took a few seconds to realise that it wasn’t fear. Several nodded. One said, “He fought the giant wolf.”

“Fenris,” the teacher said. “Can anyone tell me what would have happened if Master Banner had not aided us in the fight?”

“Fenris would have eaten us,” one of the youngest children said.

“A good start,” the teacher said. “Anyone else?”

“We would have been trapped between the Bifrost’s exit and Hela’s army,” one of the older children said. “Some of us would have been killed by Fenris, while the rest would have died to Hela’s army.”

“Very good!”

Asgardians were very strange. Bruce was as fascinated as he was appalled. This was surely a cultural difference, because no way would anyone teach kids this back on Earth. Especially not grade schoolers, or grade school equivalents. But the teacher wasn’t done yet. “King Thor has told us that Master Banner is a sort of berserker,” she told her students. “Does anyone know what that means?”

Another older child spoke up. “It means he risks his mind every time he fights.”

“Exactly,” the teacher said. “In Asgard, we used to treat berserkers badly. Then we realised that it takes a great deal of courage to fight that way. So how should we treat Master Banner?”

“As a warrior,” the children chorused.

“Just as brave as any other. There are still risks, though. So, what should you do if Master Banner has to change forms to fight?”

“Stay out of his way so we don’t get hurt by accident,” one girl said.

“Find another warrior to make sure everyone else stays safe,” a boy added.

He left them to it, not knowing quite how to feel, and still without what he’d visited them for. On Earth, people feared and hated the Hulk. They called him in when it looked like the destruction the Hulk would cause would be less than whatever else was threatening them. This, though - this was like a gun safety lecture. The kids weren’t being told to be afraid, just cautious.

Back when he’d started with the Avengers, it had been an adjustment. Tony hadn’t been scared of him, Steve hadn’t been scared of him, Thor hadn’t been scared of him. Nat had been, once, and Clint was wary of just about everyone. Even so, three out of five people _not_ being terrified was a hell of a change. After New York, some people had mellowed; after Johannesburg…he hadn’t been around long enough after Johannesburg. But _he_ hated what had happened there.

Anyway, this was a whole culture of Thors. Bruce might have called it a scary prospect once, all that enthusiasm for fighting in one place. This was a different side of things.

He still didn’t have pen and paper, though.

Next on his mental list of somewhere to find writing implements were the people who’d set up as quartermasters. They were some of the busiest people on the ship, as far as he could tell, and Bruce had avoided them because when Loki had been here, he’d been working with them. Not when Bruce approached them.

“Writing implements?” the Asgardian he approached confirmed, when Bruce asked. “Not that we’ve found.”

“How have you been keeping track of your supplies?” Bruce asked.

“There are a few terminals designed for supply,” the Asgardian said. “We accessed those. There are only a few smaller devices fit for the purposes you describe, and we gave them to the healers to keep track of their patients.”

“Seems fair,” Bruce said. “Thanks for your help.”

He was quickly running out of places he might find writing materials. If he was unlucky, he and Thor would have to brainstorm and remember what was said. From that shining golden city (the gold had been visible even under the fire), to not being able to find a biro.

There was one last place he might be able to find a pen.

Bruce headed towards the big open area that looked out on space, the one most Asgardians were spending most of their time in, probably because it was less claustrophobic than everywhere else. Where Thor was spending his time roving the ship and talking to people, his buddy Heimdall was always at that window. Over the years, Thor had mentioned him a few times. Mostly in the context of how he could see anything and everything.

Bruce was getting desperate, here.

He’d never said as much as two words together to Heimdall, but you had to start somewhere, right? It was still strange to walk up to that window, only a pane of whatever it was between him and death by asphyxiation. A few days hadn’t been enough to get used to it. Speaking of not used to it, Heimdall turned his gaze on Bruce as he approached. He’d never seen eyes like that before, not even on an Asgardian. The watchman inclined his head as Bruce drew near, a respectful gesture from a friend’s friend.

Now how to broach his problem? Bruce settled on, “So Thor says you can see almost anything in the universe.”

“Some people have the capacity to hide from my sight,” Heimdall said, “but yes, I can see most things. Did you wish to know of events on Earth?”

“It’s not what I came here for, but yeah, if you’re offering…”

He’d been away for two years. How much had changed? Things would be different, since he and Thor hadn’t been around and they were easily the heaviest hitters the team had. Did Cap find replcements for them?

After a few seconds, Heimdall said, “The team that called itself the Avengers is no more.”

What? “No,” Bruce said, “That can’t be right. What - did someone die? Please tell me nobody died.” Oh god. Nat. Tony. If something had happened to them -

“They still live,” Heimdall told him, and Bruce sagged in relief. That had not been a fun half minute there. “They are scattered. The one you call Captain America is running from your authorities with several of your former comrades, including the one called Natasha Romanov. Anthony Stark remains Iron Man, and Clinton Barton lives with his family in retirement.”

Okay. That wasn’t too bad. If not for the question of why. “Do you know what happened?”

“No. I was not watching.”

No Avengers. How could that even happen? They’d all had their differences, but they were solid. Even when they split up to take care of other things, they were a _team_. Bruce put the bravest face he could on it and said, “I guess I’ll find out when I get back.”

It could be his imagination, but he thought Heimdall’s expression softened very slightly. “Two more days,” he said. “Then we will send you back to Earth.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, feeling more than a little awkward. This was another situation etiquette didn’t cover. Thank you for beaming me back to my home planet after two years out of my mind so I can warn them of another alien overlord coming to kill them. He just kept coming back to that, and now he knew the Avengers had split up. From the minute he heard, he assumed they’d face this together. He started to leave, then realised that he hadn’t asked about what he came for. “Actually. If you don’t mind, sir, there’s one more thing…”

“Ask, Bruce Banner.”

“Well, you see…I was looking for pen and paper….”

 

—

 

His most pressing duties done, Thor managed to track down Banner again - in his own quarters, which was fair enough, since even after Loki had stripped them, he still had two chairs for meetings such as this. Banner had found a notebook and a stylus somewhere, and was looking worn and harried. “Are you well?” Thor asked.

“As well as I’m going to get,” Banner said. “Thor, we got problems.”

“More problems, I assume,” Thor replied, sitting down. The weight of Asgard’s problems was already considerable. He would bear up to what he had to, and he still believed everything would be all right in the end, but it _would_ be nice if the universe could ease up on them all for a day or two.

“More problems,” Banner confirmed. “I spoke to your friend Heimdall. He says the Avengers split up.”

Thor blinked. “Why would they do such a thing? We are friends, yes? Comrades?”

“Heimdall said he didn’t know. But whatever it is, it’s bad - he said that Cap’s running from the authorities with Nat. They’re fine, he said, but Tony’s in New York and Clint’s still in retirement.”

The news was still bad. Thor thought. “We both know Steve Rogers to be a man of integrity,” he said slowly. “I can see how he might conflict with Midgard’s authorities, if they asked something of him he felt was unjust.”

“Yeah, but Tony,” Banner said. “Why wouldn’t Tony be backing him up? I mean, I know they don’t agree on everything, but you know how Tony is with his friends.”

That was true. Stark was irritating, but that was the minor flaw of a truly loyal companion. Thor shook his head. He didn’t know why Stark would not aid Rogers, and that was definitely bad news. “Thanos must come first,” he said. “If my brother told truly - and I think he has told truly enough - everyone must put aside their differences to face him.”

“Half the universe dead. I don’t know. I can think of a few people who might hold their grudges anyway.” Banner hesitated, and said, “Speaking of grudges, though…what about Loki? He did kind of trash New York.”

“Not entirely willingly,” Thor said.

“Not entirely unwillingly, either. You heard what he said.”

“I believe my brother is trying to make amends,” Thor said. “To me, at least. I cannot guarantee he’ll treat you or Earth so well.”

Banner sighed. “I think - I think it would be hypocritical of me not to put my grudge aside, under the circumstances. I get that he might have been under some duress, even if he took the opportunity to further his own grudges. I can work with him, even if I don’t trust him -”

“Wise,” Thor said. “He was ever capricious.”

“- but people on Earth aren’t going to be happy you’re bringing him along.”

“Then I will have to work something out, wherever we land,” Thor said. “Earth gave him to face Asgardian justice, and Asgardian justice was carried out. If anyone asks, I’ve pardoned him for his crimes against Asgard in light of his service to us.”

“Have you told him that?” Bruce asked.

“Not yet,” Thor replied.

Loki’s insistence on taking responsibility for his actions in New York had surprised him, all the more because this seemed like one of those places where Loki might reasonably claim some measure of innocence. Maybe not complete innocence, but some.

But then, Loki would know his choices better than Thor would. If he said he had chosen to collaborate with Thanos to further his grudges, Thor would trust his word - for the moment. Loki was, after all, a liar.

“Do you know where on Earth you want to land?” Banner asked.

“Nope. I doubt that will be for me to decide.” He should probably think of another place to go, should Earth refuse them. Honestly, he was rather relying on the humans remembering that he had aided them in their time of need. “If you have advice, though, I would be happy to hear it.”

But Banner just shook his head. “Not at all. I’m not one for politics.”

“That’s not one of your PhDs?”

“I stayed well away from humanities departments.” He tapped the notebook in front of him. “But I might have to learn some anthropology after all.”

Banner had started writing down whatever he could think of that might help them adjust to Earth. Continents and countries. Food and electronic devices. Certain fragments of Midgard’s idiom, most of which Thor could recall getting wrong at one point or another. Thor suggested an explanation of when to shake hands and when to refrain. Likewise for embraces. Some Midgardian societies and individuals found that overwhelming.

“You nearly cracked Clint’s ribs,” Banner pointed out.

“All the more reason we should work out when shaking hands is appropriate.”

After a few hours, they’d covered a great deal of material. The next step was working out how to pass that knowledge on to Thor’s people. “To be honest, I didn’t think of that,” Banner confessed.

“Nor I,” Thor said. “I’ll ask Heimdall and Loki if they have any ideas. It will likely have to be read out to smaller groups. Thank you for your help, Banner.”

“Least I could do,” Banner said. “You _are_ giving me a lift home.”

“Earth will be home to all of us soon,” he reminded his friend. “We will see the threat off together, and then we’ll rebuild.” It would all work out in the end. He was sure of it.

 

—

 

When he’d told his brother that he intended to stay, he hadn’t anticipated having to leave quite so quickly. It was somewhat counterintuitive.

It was one thing to fly out on the Commodore to trade. That took two or three days every run, and then he came back with a few more supplies, to the gratitude of everyone on the ship.

Thor smiled when he saw Loki, now.

That was exactly why he had to leave. Until Thanos was defeated, _if_ Thanos could be defeated. Thor would fight Thanos without hesitation, just like he’d fought Hela. Let Midgard fight and die as it willed, Loki cared not. His brother would never cross paths with the Mad Titan. That was the important thing, Loki thought, taking the Tesseract from the pocket of space he’d concealed it in and watching the subtly shifting blue illuminate his cabin. Thanos would follow the Tesseract, and he would leave Thor and everyone on the Statesman alone.

The Mad Titan liked to think of himself as no more ruthless than he had to be, and Loki had the Tesseract to trade. It would all work out in the end, just as Thor said.

Thor would be furious when he learned what Loki had done, but if he lived, it would be worth it. If Loki died and Thor lived, it would still be worth it.

He tucked the Tesseract away again before Heimdall could chance to see it. He’d only allowed himself these last few minutes to be maudlin, in any case; he was expected to meet Heimdall and Banner to depart the Statesman shortly.

They were leaving from a nondescript cargo bay. Loki had advised, and Heimdall had agreed, that it was better to keep the threat of Thanos quiet for the moment. There was nothing anyone could do from the Statesman, except panic. So instead of a casual departure from a public area, Loki and Banner were leaving in the middle of the night from a deserted area of the ship.

There was no more delaying it. It was time to go.

Loki made his way through the sleeping halls of the Statesman. They weren’t entirely deserted, due to the night shift of healers and carers, but they were a lot emptier. Some bowed shallowly to Loki as he passed. One or two smiled. They didn’t love him as they loved Thor, or even Heimdall, but he couldn’t deny that they saw him and respected him.

More importantly, when he reached his destination, his brother was there, and he looked as well as anyone could expect him to look - overworked as he was, and having recently lost an eye as he had. If Loki was any judge, he’d been sparring with the Valkyrie and losing. This time, he did not smile to see Loki. Instead, his brother beckoned him closer and said, “Are you sure about this?”

“As sure as I can be,” Loki said. It was important to look anxious, but not _too_ anxious. If Thor saw through this lie, he was in trouble. “We were going to Midgard anyway. You said it yourself, everything’s going to turn out fine.”

“I just didn’t expect you to go so easily,” Thor said with a frown. “Make no mistake, I’m glad you’re making the effort for me -”

“For _you_?” Loki raised an eyebrow. “My brother, I do this so we can defeat Thanos.”

“Whichever it is, I’m still pleased.” Thor put his hands on Loki’s shoulders. “You have my blessing. If the humans imprison you, please, try not to do anything rash until I arrive.”

“You do realise that not ten years ago, it would have been me asking _you_ not to do anything rash?”

“Ten years ago I wasn’t paying attention to the things that mattered. Ten years ago we still had mother and father.” And Asgard, but Loki didn’t mention that. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

Loki let his brother hug him. Two hugs in two weeks, after almost a decade of trying to convince Thor that he hated him. “I will be there for you in spirit, Thor,” he said. Whether or not Thanos killed him, and he would do everything he could to stop Thanos killing Thor before that. And if, by some miracle, they _did_ defeat Thanos, he would do what he could for Asgard as well. “I’ll be there when you arrive on Earth. I promise.”

“And I will hold you to it.”

With that, his brother let go, and went to say his farewells to Banner, cheerfully passing on instructions to say hello to their other friends and comrades on Midgard. At last, he finished, and Banner said to Heimdall, “I think we had better go to New York, if you can get us there that precisely. Tony’s probably the best starting point.”

Stark. Loki remembered Stark.

“I am familiar with the location,” Heimdall said. “Brace yourselves.”

Thor waved goodbye, and then the world was a rush of swirling dark colour for a second. It sounded pretty and pleasant, but travelling by dark energy was taxing. Loki could feel the strain in his muscles and the breath ripping from his lungs. He hoped Banner was up to it, otherwise he could arrive in New York with the corpse of an Avenger.

He barely had time to process that before they arrived with a heavy _thump_ , pitching forward from the stop. The ethereal sensation of dark energy transit faded, replaced by the feel of mundane sunshine on his skin. Beside him, he could hear Banner groaning. Still alive, then.

Not far away from them, a voice Loki had only heard a few times before said, “What the-?”

Loki cracked open his eyes. Banner was on the ground, still clearly disoriented, and the moment was too good to resist.

“I am Loki of Asgard,” he said. “And I am burdened with glorious purpose.” He waited another beat for effect, looking Stark right in the eye, before he continued, “On behalf of my brother, Thor, Allfather and King of Asgard, I have come here on a mission…of diplomacy.”

The curse that passed Stark’s lips at that was _most_ satisfactory.


End file.
